


Vodka Cranberry

by oohzaddy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Cheating, Drug Use, M/M, Prostitution, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oohzaddy/pseuds/oohzaddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're having to work all the time now. I'm starting to think you're cheating on me-"<br/>"What, like you with your wife? Wouldn't that be...what you call it? Ironic?" Harry interrupted.</p><p>In which Harry is a Russian beauty kidnapped at 13 while on a vacation in London. He's forced into the human trafficking business. Zayn is a police officer who cheats on his wife with Harry, not knowing Harry is younger than he says he is. Zayn has no clue about Harry's prostitution and instead thinks the younger lad works at an American themed diner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's My Name? (Prologue)

"This is only five hundred."

Harry was scared for his life. He knew he had an expectation of how much money to bring back, and five hundred wasn't anywhere close to it. Harry was sick today, and people just simply didn't want to fuck someone who was sneezing every fifty seconds.

Harry nodded and shifted his weight to his other foot, keeping his gaze down at the grimy tiled floor of the kitchen they were in. Harry was still amazed at how many people could "live" in this three-room townhouse in London. There were five people to each room, and an additional seven people sleeping in the basement. Luckily, Harry was one of the people living in a bedroom. If you could really call that lucky, of course. His back ached and he normally didn't get much sleep because his roommates were up all night, high on anything but life.

Timor called the shots. Timor collected the money. Timor would beat you senseless if you did so much as look at him wrong. Harry was terrified of Timor, so he didn't dare play the sick card around him.

"What, aren't there schools in Russia? How old are you? Five?" Timor spoke as he dropped the wad of bank notes, letting them all flutter to the ground. Harry's eyes followed the money, his eyes widening.

"No, sir." Harry shook his head as his eyes flickered up to look at Timor quite timidly.

"Right, then. How old are you?"

Harry didn't answer.

"I asked you a fucking question." Timor snapped before Harry sniffled and wiped his nose off on his sleeve.

"Sixteen." He answered. The man in front of him let out a scoff and stood up, his broad figure towering way over Harry's.

"Sixteen," Timor repeated before nudging Harry back just a little, making the boy stumble back. "You're sixteen and you still can't count worth shit." Harry flinched as Timor's voice rose with every word. Harry's eyes remained on the tile floor, waiting for a blow to any part of his body, but what happened next surprised him.

All Harry got was a shove into the wall, and a gruesome threat he wouldn't ever repeat muttered in his ear before he was released and told to go get at least two hundred quid more. He was left to pick all of his money up, and he did just that before walking to his room and digging through the cheap suitcase he'd bought at a thrift store with extra money he'd earned. He picked out something more appropriate to wear to where he was going, standing up before he felt someone walk up next to him.

"What'd he do?" Niall asked quietly, sniffling and wiping his nose off on the back of his hand. It wasn't because the blond was sick. Harry _wished_ Niall was sick and getting nosebleeds from blowing his nose too hard instead of inhaling those sharp crystals. Niall had been in this longer than Harry had, and Harry knew the lad would become weak and give into drugs from the moment the blond had fallen into Harry's arms and cried after getting fucked by Timor as punishment. They were only thirteen then. Just babies, now that Harry had thought about it.

"He said he would _shove his foot up my arse_ , but I'm still trying to figure if that was meant literally or if he would just beat me." Harry answered before Niall let out a small snort.

"Maybe both, yeah? Seems like the kind of person that's into that kind of thing." Niall teased before Harry punched his shoulder.

"Shut up." Harry whispered, glancing towards the open door before letting out a small laugh. "You think?" He raised an eyebrow before sliding his shirt off. Harry always had some bruises somewhere on his body, and it was normal for him to be sore nearly all the time.

"Yeah." Niall hummed before watching Harry put on his nicest shirt. "You going to the club tonight?"

"I have to make two hundred plus tomorrow's amount by deadline tomorrow." Harry answered before Niall started digging through his own bag. There was no way Niall was going to let Harry go to the club alone, and Harry was quite grateful for that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry didn't like the atmosphere of any club he went to. The music was too loud, there were too many drunk people, and he felt grimy every time he touched a sweaty person on the dance floor. The reasons he went to clubs to get customers were simple. The music was too loud so he could avoid small talk, there were drunk people everywhere, and the people he talked to were probably sweaty because they were most likely horny and looking to hook up.

Harry splits up with Niall halfway across the dance floor when the blond sees an easy target. Harry knows how confident Niall can be while he's working, and he figures he himself is like that as well. He knows he looks older than his age, and that worked to his advantage, because he had now spotted his target. A beautiful man, sitting slumped over at the bar as he drank some kind of golden liquid out of a glass. Harry leaned his head to either side to crack his neck before walking up to the bar and ordering a vodka cranberry, sitting on the stool next to mister gorgeous.

"Your date must be awfully rude, leaving someone like you alone at the bar." Harry spoke up, folding his hands and resting them on the bar top. As soon as the man he'd approached turned his head to look at him, Harry smiled softly and cocks his head to the side just so.

Harry must admit, this man was way more gorgeous than he was anticipating. He had rosewood brown eyes that would probably glimmer golden in the sunlight much like the liquid in his glass. He would've sworn it looked like the lad was wearing eyeliner, but the colour was too natural and soft looking to be that way, and he most likely had the longest eyelashes Harry's ever seen. Now the man was smiling as well, and it was almost like Harry couldn't handle the beauty that was smacking him dead in the face.

"Ah, yeah. She's very rude, actually. She's invisible as well, so that makes it even worse." The man Harry had now labeled as Mister Gorgeous spoke up with a small chuckle. It took Harry a moment to figure it out, but he laughed immediately after he figured it out. People had to give him some slack because, of course, English wasn't his first language.

Harry picked his glass up once it was set down in front of him, taking a small sip as he crossed one leg over the other. Something he did quite a bit when seducing new clientele. His long legs were quite an asset, and it seemed everyone quite liked them.

"You didn't come with anyone?" Harry asked quizzically, putting on a surprised expression although he wasn't entirely faking it. He couldn't really believe Mister Gorgeous had come alone, especially when they were in a setting like this.

The older man shook his head before letting his tongue run over his cherry red lips. "No." He muttered, and Harry could feel the lad's eyes scan over his body. "What's that accent?" The man asked, gesturing to Harry.

"I'm from Russia." Harry explained before the lad nodded and stayed silent for a moment.

"Do you want to go dance?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
Harry let out a groan as he woke up in a hotel room, squinting at the sunlight shining in his eyes. He hadn't gotten absolutely trashed the night before, but Mister Gorgeous had made him forget all about what he went out to do. Harry could remember snippets of the night before, and from what he could recall, they both had a great time. From the grinding on each other, to Harry running his hands over the man's freshly buzzed hair because it felt nice against his skin and Mister Gorgeous thought it was cute, to their long, sporadic makeout sessions, to...the sex. Sex. Harry lifted the duvet that was covering his body to confirm he was naked, and he was definitely naked. With dried cum and saliva sticking to his skin. The sex had actually felt _good_ , as far as he could recall, and that kind of worried Harry.

"Fuck." Harry muttered under his breath in Russian before the body next to him started to stir. Only then did he realize there was an arm wrapped loosely around his waist. How could he have missed that? So many things had gone wrong the night before. This was supposed to be business, and Harry was supposed to con this man out of two hundred dollars for a night. Not make out with him and have slow sex with him, especially not if it felt good. Harry wasn't supposed to feel good. God, and out of everything he could remember, Harry couldn't even say this lad's name for the life of him.

"Hmm?" Mister Gorgeous grumbled as he started to wake up, and Harry pressed his lips together. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that lasted only for a few moments as he felt warm lips brushing over his neck. "Morning." The lad said to Harry before Harry opened his eyes and turned over to face...his name started with a U. Or maybe a W? No. Z. It definitely started with a Z. Shit, no, he shouldn't have turned over. Because he had found that his prediction the night before, that the lad's eyes would turn golden in the sunlight, turned out to be absolutely fucking true.

"Morning." Harry swallowed thickly, pushing himself to sit up. He rubbed his eyes and looked back down at the man, who seemed to be watching him with an expression of -fuck. Pure intention. Great. Harry shuffled to the edge of the bed, looking around for his clothes before he found them laying in the corner, and they obviously had been torn off and thrown onto the ground. "I'm late for work." Harry said quickly as he stood up, walking over to the corner and picking his clothes up.

"You haven't even looked at the clock, babe." No. No pet names. Please for the love of god, no pet names.

"Sure I have, it's..." Harry's eyes flickered to the side, straining to read the clock on the wall since it was almost out of sight. "Ten forty-five. And my name's Harry." Harry said quickly before Gorgeous sat up and looked over at Harry.

"What's _my_  name?" He asked before Harry's eyes widened. He turned around to face the bloke, smiling weakly and clearing his throat.

"Ehm, you know." Harry said as he slid his boxers on. "Zzz..."

"Zayn-"

"Zayn." Harry said immediately after Zayn, raising an eyebrow as if he had proved something.

"Right, I knew you knew that." Zayn teased before Harry shot him a glare, continuing to work his tight black jeans up his legs.

"I knew you knew, I knew that." Harry countered before Zayn raised his hands in surrender. Harry slid his shirt on and started to button it up quickly, feeling Zayn's eyes still on him.

"So, what now? You're going to leave?" Zayn asked. It shouldn't have made Harry feel horrible, but it certainly did.

"Ehm, no. I was...going to ask for your number." Harry lied as he raked his fingers through his hair, looking over at Zayn with a weak smile. He really hoped he didn't get this man sick, because he seemed genuinely nice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter before this was the Prologue, so now we're beginning to get into the heart of the story i love this. 
> 
> This takes place nearly two years later, right around Harry's birthday.

 "When I'm not married anymore, we'll both move into a small apartment in the middle of the city. Together. I promise." Those words were all Harry needed to just sink into the pure white hotel bed sheets and relax in Zayn's arms.

  
Harry felt quite guilty sometimes, lying to Zayn like this. He figured he'd gotten himself into one hell of a mess, and he didn't know when exactly he would tell Zayn the truth. He knew the older man could help him. He was a police officer, for god's sake, but Harry was scared. This was the case with every other person in the townhouse he lived in. Everybody was scared of what Timor and his friends would do to them if they even hinted at telling the police about the condition they were living in.

  
Zayn was a married man as well, which made Harry's guilt even worse. He never thought he'd become one of _those_  people. Someone who tore relationships apart, but he was convinced it wasn't like that. Zayn was _in love_  with him, and he was in love with Zayn. That was better than just sex behind somebody's back, wasn't it? Of course, Harry was lying to Zayn. In other people's eyes, they probably saw it as manipulating. As far as Zayn knew, Harry was twenty years old and worked at an old American-themed diner, having moved from Russia when he was just about to turn eighteen. Harry didn't even want to _know_  what would happen if somehow Zayn figured out what had happened. The curly haired boy was always walking on eggshells and tiptoeing around certain topics, like why his hours at work were so odd and questions about what he did growing up. As Harry thought about this more and more, he started to panic.

  
"I have to go." Harry cleared his throat, tearing himself from the warm embrace of the combination of the duvet and Zayn's body heat. Harry made three hundred quid more than he was supposed to the day before, so he really wasn't pressed for time. He just needed to get out of there before he started thinking again.

  
"What's the matter this time? Work again?" Zayn asked with a sigh, obviously annoyed as he watched the younger boy stand up, his bare body a reminder of what they'd done the night before.

  
"Yes." Harry muttered with a nod, picking his boxers up and sliding them on. Zayn was of course Harry's own investment. Such a beautiful one at that. And Harry had to protect it at all costs, because he didn't want to lose it.

  
"You're having to work all the time now. I'm starting to think you're cheating on me-"

  
"What, like you with your wife? Wouldn't that be...what you call it? Ironic?" Harry interrupted, his accented voice quiet and a tiny bit agitated. Zayn had been telling Harry he was in the process of getting a divorce for months, but he never took his goddamn ring off. _Never_. Not even when they were fucking.

  
"I was...kidding." Zayn muttered, sitting up and letting his eyebrows knit together as he tilted his head to the side just a bit. "Harry, babe-"

  
"I have work." Harry interrupting, huffing quietly as he slid his trousers on, and then his grey knit sweater.

  
"Will I get to see you before your birthday?" Zayn asked as Harry slipped his shoes on. The man seemed so confused, and Harry was just so mentally scrambled that he didn't allow himself the time to apologise for being so snippy. Harry's birthday was in a week as well, and he was turning eighteen. All of his friends knew, except for Zayn. Zayn thought Harry was turning twenty-one.

  
"No." Harry spat quickly, ruffling his hair in the mirror before turning to face Zayn. "Maybe." He smiled weakly, walking back over to the bed to pick his backpack up. "I don't know." Harry cleared his throat, slinging his bag onto his shoulder before he leaned over to press a kiss to Zayn's forehead and ruffle his hair around just a bit. He walked towards the door, rolling his sleeves up just a bit.

  
"I love you." Zayn reminded as Harry opened the door, although he didn't get the same reply.

  
"I know." Harry mumbled before he walked out of the hotel room.

  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
"So, hundred?"

  
Harry shook his head, pulling his white t-shirt on and wiping his mouth off on his forearm.

  
"Two hundred." Harry spoke, clearing his throat. He'd have to brush his teeth twice after this. He didn't even know how old this man was. Probably forty? He looked a lot older, that was for sure.

  
"You said a hundred."

  
"That was before you kissed me, came in my mouth, and _went over my time limit_." Harry raised an eyebrow, shifting his weight to rest on his right foot as he crossed his arms. The man in front of him rolled his eyes before fishing two hundred pounds out of his wallet. Harry was a master at conning people out of their money, especially when it was in this type of situation. Lonely older men were always Harry's target. Harry took the money from the man with the salt and pepper hair, shoving it in his bag before walking towards the door of the shitty motel room.

  
"Wait, ehm-" Salt and pepper asked as Harry opened the door, about to step out. Harry looked back at him, eyebrow raised. "Is there...any way to contact you? For the next time?"

  
Harry's eyelids drooped just a bit, and he debated whether to turn this man down or not. However, this man was money, and Harry needed it.

  
"I'm at Rocky tavern on Friday and Saturday nights." Harry answered before he finally walked out of the hotel room, closing the door behind him.

  
Harry walked back to the townhouse, which wasn't too far from where he'd just gotten paid. He walked through the door, which was always unlocked, and organized all the money he'd received the day before. Once he had all eight hundred pounds in his hand, he turned it in to one of Timor's friends, who was sitting on the couch watching a shit reality show. Harry had around three hundred dollars extra, and he always saved his extra money just in case of emergency. Like if he didn't earn enough one day or if he'd been up all night and needed an energy shot. He walked into the hallway and into his room, ignoring the laughing group of three in the corner.

  
Harry dug through his old suitcase, looking for the new shirt he'd bought the day before. Looking his best was part of the task, and when he looked his best, he was no doubt everybody's favourite person to fuck. He started to get a bit upset as he couldn't find his shirt, and he dropped to his knees so he wouldn't hurt his back, standing bent over like that.  
"What're you looking for?" Niall asked, still laughing to himself as he rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. There was no doubt that Niall was high off his arse. Of course he was, he'd been sitting with the group in the corner. Besides, Harry could hear it in his voice.

  
"My new shirt," Harry answered as he sat back on his heels, looking up at Niall, who just covered his grinning mouth. Harry frowned and looked up at the blond, noticing how sunken in his face was and how half of his hair was his reddish-brown roots like he did every time the lad was high. Sometimes Harry had to _remind_ Niall to take care of himself, and it was especially frustrating when the lad was high. "What'd you do with my shirt?" Harry asked, sounding very cross as Niall let out a snort. "Niall, you shouldn't touch people's things. Remember? Hands to yourself and all that shit?" Harry sighed as he raised his hands to cover his eyes.

  
"I have it." Niall spoke up, giggling silently to himself as he scratched at his chest.

  
"Okay, where is it?" Harry asked as he stood up, looking down at Niall. Niall furrowed his eyebrows, blinking slowly before raising a finger with his free hand, the other one still scratching at his sternum.

  
"I gave it to someone." Niall recalled before Harry let his eyes roll back. "Ouch." the blond muttered, still working at his chest before Harry looked down to see what was the matter.

  
"Niall, _stop it_." Harry demanded as he took hold of both of Niall's wrists, holding them away from the lad's chest. "You're _bleeding_." Niall had managed to scratch hard enough to scrape away at his skin until he eventually broke through and made himself bleed. Harry held Niall's hand up so they could both see the blood on Niall's fingertips. "Look at that." Harry said before Niall glared at him, his cold expression throwing Harry off.

  
"There's _bugs,_ " Niall said firmly, swallowing thickly as Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "In me. Everywhere. There's bugs and they crawl under my skin and _hurt_ me." Niall's tone raised with every word.

  
"There's no bugs, Niall." Harry said calmly, although he was quite furious. He was furious that Niall would let something take over his life like this, and he was especially furious at the fact that he couldn't do anything to help his best friend now. As soon as he heard Niall sniffle quietly, he dropped the lad's hands and let the blond step in to hug him tightly.

  
"Why don't you believe me?" Niall asked between gasps of air, sobbing and hiccuping into Harry's chest before Harry rolled and closed his eyes, resting one hand on the back of Niall's head while the other hand rubbed circles into his back soothingly.

  
"I believe you." 


End file.
